Everything we make is by hand. That hasn’t changed—through three generations, across three countries, and more kitchen tables than we can count.
It began with my mother, Ellie. She was just eighteen when she started making children’s clothing from her home in Rasht, in northern Iran. There was no storefront, no sign—just her hands and her talent. She would dress me in her designs and walk me into the boutiques of Golsar to take orders. I was her little lookbook.
One boutique, Nane Noghli, became her most loyal customer, ordering entire seasons months in advance. The owner eventually became one of Ellie’s closest friends.
A few years after the revolution, everything changed. Ellie had been quietly active against the regime, and it was no longer safe for her to stay—not with a young daughter, and not in a place where she felt I wouldn’t have the life she wanted for me. She left everything behind. It was a nightmare, especially for her. We were separated for three years.
When we found each other again, it was in Norrköping, Sweden. There, Ellie started over once more, opening a small atelier designing ball gowns. For a time, it worked—until the early ’90s market crash. Demand disappeared, and we lost everything.
We moved again, this time to Gothenburg, encouraged by a close friend. We packed everything we owned into a truck and set off for a fresh start. But along the way, the truck was totaled. Everything we had was scattered across the highway. Miraculously, our friend survived with only minor injuries—but we arrived in a new city with nothing but the clothes on our backs.
By then, Ellie was exhausted. Defeated. So we made another bold decision: we’d leave again. We considered the United States, but ultimately chose Toronto—like so many other Iranians in the ’90s. We settled near Don Mills and Sheppard, where I finished high school and started college.
Ellie began doing alterations for high-end boutiques in Bayview Village and Yorkville. Through a friend, she was introduced to the owner of a struggling hair salon. With her hairdressing license from Iran, she took the required exams, passed, and started working there. Within months, she took over the business and transformed it into ORO Hair Studio, running it successfully for over thirty years.
But she never stopped creating.
She began designing and selling jewelry at the salon. By then, I had already started making jewelry myself. I was sixteen, working at a shop called Private Collections in Bayview Village. The owner, Rosalie, mentored me—bringing back stones and silver from trade shows in New York and teaching me everything she knew. I took orders, built pieces, and quietly grew into the craft.
Eventually, I moved into web design in the early 2000s, and my time for jewelry faded. Ellie stepped in and took over—expanding it in her own way. I always knew she would. Her imagination is unlike anyone I’ve ever known. She doesn’t just create art—she lives in it.
Skincare came into my life later. While supporting Ellie at the salon and running my web business, I trained as an aesthetician and worked alongside her. When I became pregnant, I had to step away completely—I couldn’t tolerate even the simplest scents. It was a difficult pregnancy, but then Ava arrived.
Life shifted again. My husband’s work had us constantly moving, living out of suitcases for years, until we eventually settled in Collingwood. There, I worked at a spa and found my way back to that world. It was also where everything started to click.
I began learning about ingredients, formulations, and product development—but realized I already knew so much of it. I had grown up with it. My grandmother’s voice echoed in everything: what to mix, what not to mix, what to eat, what to apply, what heals what. Rose water, cardamom, beetroot, herbs—these weren’t trends to me. They were home.
Everything I create now begins there.
And then there’s Ava—the youngest of us. She’s funny like her dad and naturally artistic like us. She’s always been drawn to creating—whether it’s slime, fidget toys, or drawing. Her work is incredible, even if she doesn’t always see it yet. I remind her often: the best is the enemy of the good. She’s still in school, but soon she’ll have her own space within Leila.ca, sharing her art in her own way.
We never really thought of this as a business. Ellie simply made things because she loved to. One day, I posted a few of her pieces on the Nextdoor app—and the response was overwhelming. That’s when it clicked. Maybe it was time.
So I built this space—for the three of us.
Ellie and I have also spent years volunteering with Vafa Animal Shelter, raising funds for dogs in Iran. Giving back has always been part of who we are. That’s why 10% of everything we sell goes toward supporting dog shelters—because to us, pets are family.
Three women. Three generations. None of us ever learned how to keep our hands still.
